They sat in companionable silence for a while, until all the ice had melted in her drink, and all trace of it and the sweet tea were gone. The sound of some youngsters playing in the Inn yard as their father relaxed on the veranda with a mug of ale brought a smile to her face.
‘Do you remember Nárello, and the drawing that he did?’ He turned his face to her, brow furrowed in thought. ‘Yes,’ he said hesitantly, ‘and you did some drawings for him, and told him a story as I recall.’
‘I was not the only one who told him a story, Derufin. I remember yours – of the men from Ringló Vale who came to aid Gondor in her time of need. And I have often wondered . . .’
He turned his head from her and looked out the window at the children’s pleasant game of tag. ‘You wondered what, m’lady?’
She reached across the table and put her hand on his arm, drawing his attention back to her.
‘Of the five who remained, the ones who returned to Ethring - there two who left, one to the arms of the wide sea, and the other to a life of rootless wandering. Which one were you, Derufin?’
[ April 07, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.
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